


an outlaw for an inlaw

by quidhitch



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robin Hood, F/M, it's more a robin hood inspired au, kind of...?, thief mako, warrior princess korra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:19:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2661779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quidhitch/pseuds/quidhitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i.</p><p>He swung through her bedroom window at midnight, ripping her favorite red gauzy curtains in the process, and all she could think was that the wanted posters did not do his eyebrows justice. </p><p>The alabaster skin, bright amber eyes, and prominent red scarf should’ve made him easy to pick out even in darkness, but he seemed to move in tandem with the shadows - blending so seamlessly into the backdrop of her ornate room it was as if him and his frayed, fingerless gloves belonged there.</p><p>Korra knew better, though.</p><p>word count: 3,627</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**i.**

He swung through her bedroom window at midnight, ripping her favorite red gauzy curtains in the process, and all she could think was that the wanted posters  _did not_  do his eyebrows justice. 

The alabaster skin, bright amber eyes, and prominent red scarf should’ve made him easy to pick out even in darkness, but he seemed to move in tandem with the shadows - blending so seamlessly into the backdrop of her ornate room it was as if him and his frayed, fingerless gloves belonged there.

Korra knew better, though.

It couldn’t have taken him more than a second to see she was awake and notch an arrow pointed straight at her heart, but Korra was quick too, quietly wrapping her fingers around the hilt of the dagger she kept underneath her pillow. Her heartbeat slowed as it fit reassuringly into the curves and creases of her palm, the familiarity of the grip clearing up the cloud of uncertainty that seemed to be obscuring her years of training.

She was sure of one thing, though. Shecould  _definitely_  take him.

"The crown jewels," Korra said, in a voice so firm she could’ve sworn it made him start, "are the next window over, genius."

He scowled, and as her eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness, she thought for a second he could’ve passed for a noble, with a strong jaw and gently sloping nose, but his almost punishing stare ruined the image entirely.

"Heads up," he shot back, quietly, and Korra tried hard not to shiver at the low timbre of his voice, "the floor plans you’ve got in the castle library are  _not_  up to date.”

"I could scream,” she informed, suspending a challenging eyebrow, “I could scream and ten guards would burst into the room and you’d be on the floor in seconds." He did not look as troubled at this information as she hoped he’d be.

"You scream, I shoot," he paused, his frown deepening, and she wondered if he had any other expressions in his repertoire, "and I swear the stories are true,  _Princess Korra,_ I never miss _.”_

Maybe it was the way he’d said her name - like she ate diamonds for breakfast and slept on sheets of pure gold - or the fact she was just  _itching_  to prove him wrong, but Korra chose that moment to leap nimbly from the edge of her bed and onto the wanted criminal who’d invaded her room.

An arrow whizzed quite closely by her cheek, but by some miracle Korra managed to avoid it, and they both toppled clunkily onto the fluffy white carpet. Korra silently noted it wasn’t the most graceful way to gain the upper hand, her teacher Tenzin would’ve cringed at her form, but at least now there was something pointy threatening his heart instead of hers.

"Never, huh?" she whispered, digging her cool blade underneath his ribs so he shifted uncomfortably beneath her.

Korra could feel every line of his body pressed against the bare skin of her stomach, and quite suddenly there was a very drastic and abrupt shift in atmosphere.

It was like stepping out of the cold and into the warmth of the castle, the change in temperature made Korra’s skin burn and her eyes water. Suddenly every square inch of her felt warm and he smelt heady, like mint and charred fabric, and she was finally starting to understand why Tenzin always made her spar with balding, middle aged men and _—_  

 _“_ What the hell are you doing?” she asked irritably, as he brought up a hand to ghost over the skin just under her eye. Korra was (irrationally) feeling very dizzy.

He brought his thumb back so she could see. It was streaked with red.

"I didn’t miss."

And then he’d hooked his calf trickily around hers, flipped them over, and tossed her dagger aside, holding her arms down with calloused, angry hands, “What do you actually  _know_ about your people, Princess?”

Korra struggled to look cool and neutral despite the fact that the intensity and spite in his voice suggested the answer to that question was very little.

“We _take care_ of our impoverished,” she snapped, and he chuckled darkly, “there are initiatives and laws that protect them,” granted she’d never listened that well when her father’s council went over said initiatives but she knew there were  _there_ , “and my mother–“

“–is trying to put a  _bandaid_ over a _gaping side wound_ ,” he whispered fiercely, his warm breath fanning across her face and making her dizzy, “Your family thinks they’re better than the rest of the monarchs because they’ve given us a fraction of the attention we deserve, but they’re  _not_. You’re  _not_.”

Startled and unbelievably frustrated, Korra struggled to find something to say in defense of herself, “You don’t understand, running an entire kingdom is–“ 

“I don’t understand?” he asked incredulously, cutting her off again and she was starting to wish she’d driven a dagger underneath his ribs when she’d had the chance, “ _I_ don’t understand? Just _one_  of your necklaces or brooches or satin shoes,” she had never heard anyone sound so bitter, so passionate, “could feed an entire family for a month. I understand just fine, Princess.” 

And she might’ve told him then, with wide startled eyes, that he could have her necklaces and brooches and satin shoes because she didn’t want them anyways but at that very second he pressed a scrappy looking black handkerchief over her nose and mouth and everything started to get blurry.

The next morning two of her mother’s sapphire necklaces were missing and Korra was tucked comfortably underneath the covers of her bed. The last thing she remembered was his voice - dangerously close to her ear – whispering surprisingly softly, “it’s not fatal.”

**ii.**

She spent the day in her father’s library, sorting through scroll after scroll of dictated council meetings. It was tedious and time consuming and with each word that filtered through her mind, her heart sank lower and lower in her chest.

**iii.**

Korra stumbled into a council meeting by complete accident one day, and Tonraq made her stay out of respect to the elders that had shown up.

She didn’t bother paying attention – something about spirits and balance and the north – until they addressed the need for new posters of the infamous “Fire Ferrets” to put up around town. Someone’s sister’s maid had heard they’d recently set up camp in the kingdom.

At this point, Korra was gracious enough to point out to the palace’s incompetent sketch artist that their leader’s eyes were more almond shaped than round and if he didn’t draw the scarf he was wasting his time. 

Her father’s advisors fixed her with the strangest she flounced out of the room, tugging absentmindedly on the end of her ponytail, before telling the artist to disregard all their suggestions.

**iv.**

He spent the weekend thinking about her eyes and lurking around the palace walls broodily– wondering why the fuck it seemed to matter so much that he got through to her that night in her room, about the difference between the rich and the poor and the need to steal.

Or maybe he already knew it was because he didn’t want her to think of him as dirty or evil or no good, but he was all of those things and her opinion was (supposed to be) worthless.

So it stood to reason that he wouldn’t be obsessing over the idea of seeing her again and feeling a twisting sensation in his heart at the thought of never getting another chance, but at night when the sounds of his friends breathing were all that occupied their tent his mind began to wander.

**v.**

A week later, he crashed her eighteenth birthday party.

Not that she could’ve complained, of course. It had been a mind numbingly “sophisticated”, which Korra had come to realize translated almost directly to “boring”. She’d fallen asleep at _least_  three times in the process of the various lords and ladies from all across the four nations presenting her their extravagant birthday gifts, and gotten dirty looks from Tenzin for each and every one of them.

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about his eyes and his frown and his stupid scarf once or twice in the days that followed their first encounter. So she might not have been as angry as she let on when him and his band of – what did they call themselves? Fire Ferrets? – descended upon the throng of nobility that had gathered in the courtyard for her party.

Everything seemed to fall apart at once. Korra barely had time to count how many of them there were before her father was engaged in combat with who she recognized from the wanted posters as his brother, Tenzin was battling three of them at once with a very long wooden stick that looked suspiciously the leg of a table, and there were two guards on either of her arms escorting her to one of the numerous tents currently housing her birthday presents. 

She’d barely been pushed through the canvas flap when they’d both collapsed, seemingly at the same time, and she was suddenly left alone. She could practically hear her mother’s voice in her head saying  _stay inside Korra, don’t cause trouble Korra_ , and Korra thought back,  _you’re going to have to talk a whole lot louder if you want me to listen_.

Poking her head out of the tent, Korra scanned the melee outside for her guard’s assailants.

She was a second away from giving up, grabbing a ruby encrusted sword (courtesy of the fire lord), and going to help her dad – but a low, familiar voice behind her made her stop in her tracks.

“Cool toys.” 

Whipping around, she braced a hand on her hip and wished he could’ve shown up a little earlier when her tiara wasn’t lopsided and her hair was in ornate clips instead of lying in crazy, loose waves around her shoulders. 

Somehow he’d managed to get inside the tent without her hearing, and was now surveying the piles on piles of vanity tables and jewelry and exquisitely _useless_  day-to-day items that had been presented to her that day. The fact that he wasn’t even holding an arrow or a dagger or a sword towards her to fend off potential attacks was the slightest bit offensive, like he had the gall to think he stood a chance against her in a fair fight, and she fixed him with a venomous glare.

“…Don’t take the leather hunting boots. Or the ancient waterbending scrolls.”

He looked at her with that same incredulous frown on his face, but she thought his eyes were edged with something like amusement, too, “That’s not really how it works, Princess. You don’t get to pick.”

Irritably blowing a flyaway out of her vision, Korra leaned up against one of the vanity tables and shrugged her shoulders, “Fine, fine, whatever. But the highest price items are the dresses, and you could probably carry more of them than anything else.”

He scowled at her, probably because they both knew she was right, and this time she didn’t have the will to fight off her smile. He looked startled for a fraction of a second, as if he wasn’t used to having someone smile at him, but the expression was quickly replaced with his trademark frown.

He then proceeded to go about collecting the various dresses and skirts and other useless gifts in the large black bag he’d brought with him, all while keeping Korra tucked safely in his peripheral vision, and she was gracious enough to inform him that the silk ones weren’t worth anything if he got them wet, and that if he needed to get mud out of the tulle he should use vinegar.

She didn’t try to stop him, though. She could easily have pounced on him or gotten away from the tent without the risk of injuring herself, but she didn’t. And not once did he move to notch an arrow on his bow, though he kept in his hands at all times.

It felt and seemed remarkably like some sort of ridiculous trust between them, which both knew was entirely implausible given he was a wanted criminal and she was royalty, but there didn’t seem to be another way to describe it.

It took him all of twelve or fifteen minutes to finish collecting what he could carry – he left the scrolls and the hunting boots – and he was just tying up the ends of his bag when Korra pointed out a slim fitting simple, red dress he’d missed in the cranny of one of the dark cherry wood wardrobes.

“It’s not worth as much as some of the others, but it’s not cheap either, and it wouldn’t take up that much space in a–“ she stopped talking abruptly at the sight of a crimson blush flaring across his cheeks, and shot him a puzzled smile, “…what? Is there a twig in my hair or something?” 

He tugged on the drawstring on his bag, trying very hard not to look at her, but still not making any move to grab the red dress.

“You’re so weird,” Korra muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes and watching him make his way back towards the other end of the tent.

Korra was ready for him to pull his usual vanishing act immediately after his job was done, but his hand hovered over the flap, like he was thinking about something, and then he turned around – the blush still on his cheeks – and said in a quiet, embarrassed voice, “You’d look good in red,” before ducking out of the tent and disappearing into the crowds. 

Korra was glad he hadn’t stuck to watch her flush the exact same shade of crimson and smile shyly at the ground, standing rooted to the same spot nearly 10 minutes after he’d left.

**vi.**

He spent the next couple days trying to convince himself that he had left the red dress due to space constraints and not even remotely because it would fall beautifully around her mocha skin and her strong hips.

The only problem with that was that it forced him to spend an unnerving amount of time thinking about said mocha skin and strong hips – which was turning out to be very counterproductive. 

He couldn’t see her again.

He  _had_  to see her again.

**vii.**

Korra wore to the red dress to her parent’s anniversary party the next week, even though it was a small affair and her best friend Asami insisted it didn’t go with the theme.

Tonraq looked on with concerned eyes as she dreamily pushed what he knew to be her favorite noodles around her plate rather than scarfing them down in her usual fashion.

Senna smiled as if she knew something everyone else didn’t as her daughter spent the entire night with her gaze fixated on the windows, as if any second she was expecting them to spontaneously shatter.

Tenzin looked worried when face began to fall as the evening dragged on without any sign of interruption, and everyone asked her if she was okay when she downed three glasses of cactus juice in rapid succession.

Irrationally upset he hadn’t tried even  _once_  to rob her in the past couple days, she let a nobleman with pasty skin and bad hair feel her up in the dim light of an unused storage closet.

Her parents nearly popped a blood vessel scolding her for going off without telling anyone, but the accusations passed over her head as she reflected on the evening, thinking about how that guy’s eyes hadn’t been bright enough and his frown didn’t set quite right on his mouth.

**viii.**

Hadn’t he been the one who had argued most passionately against Bolin and Hasook and all the others that every royal was  _the same_? Self-absorbed, vapid, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that plagued their people – there was no reasoning with them; thievery was the only means of survival.

But there was no denying that she was different from any royal he’d ever come across before – that she was different from any  _person_  he’d ever come across before.

He couldn’t see her again. 

He  _had_ to see her again.

**ix.**

It was almost too much trouble. Constructing a plan to make his way through the palace’s now airtight security, lying to the rest of the Fire Ferrets about where he was going, pacing back and forth at night thinking about how the hell he’d respond when she asked him in that harsh, biting,  _beautiful_ voice why he was there.

These days she was always lurking in the back of his mind, skirting around the edge of his thoughts, distracting him and frustrating him in a way nothing had distracted and frustrated him before. He was convinced the only way to rid himself of her presence was to visit her one last time and get a reason for why she hadn’t cut him down that day in the tent. That had to be the source of all these disturbances.

So he set out at midnight, his scarf pulled up over his nose and his clothes too thin for the biting November air, and told Bolin he’d be back in a couple hours (he said he needed a walk to clear his thoughts, which wasn’t entirely untrue). 

His heart thudded wildly, uncomfortably in his chest – and it was an unpleasant change of pace from the usual slow, measured beat it fell into when he was executing a perfectly written plan.

He managed it anyways, though, his body acting on autopilot as it used to back in his earlier days of being a crook – when even sharing the riches they stole left a bad pit in his stomach.

She’d left her window open. He frowned, thinking how stupid and unsafe that was as he leapt agilely from the balcony of the throne, fingers gaining purchase on her windowsill. 

Either the swish the curtains made when he pulled himself up woke her or she hadn’t yet fallen asleep, but either way when he set foot in her room she was sitting straight up in the bed, blushing, hair loose and eyes wide with confusion and something like… And something else he thought he recognized but couldn’t quite place. 

For some ridiculous reason, he blushed too.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head vigorously, pressing her index finger over her lips before gesturing towards her door. Moving his gaze to where she was pointing, he suppressed a groan upon realizing there were two guards stationed out there, ready to pounce if any sounds slightly out of the ordinary came through the crack underneath her door. 

Of course they would’ve stationed guards outside her door after what happened at her birthday party, how could he have been so stupid? Making a mental note to berate himself for the oversight later, he hesitantly stepped towards her. She made no move to throw something pointy at him. He stepped closer. Again, no movement. He was standing at the edge of her bed now, towering over her and trying not to look threatening, and this time she did move – reached out to grab his arm (surprisingly not to tear it off his body) and pulled him down on top of the comforter, so he was sitting right next to her. 

Right next to her and  _very_ close to her. He’d never allowed himself this thorough a look before and he couldn’t believe he was getting  _butterfly-birds_  in his stomach right now – what was wrong with him?

Then she was leaning in close, and he was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, going completely still as her lips just barely brushed his the shell of his ear.

“I sneezed and one of the guys outside nearly sprained something opening the door so fast,” her breath tickled his bare skin and he felt very, very warm,  _too_  warm, “we’ll attract less attention this way.”

She leaned back a little to gauge his expression – her nose accidentally-probably-not-accidentally brushing against his temple as she did – and he nodded, swallowing thickly.

She smirked  _(smirked)_ before leaning back in and whispering, “what are you doing here?”

He angled his head closer to her ear, trying hard to keep his voice from sounding strangled, “why did you let me take the dresses?”

And then she was smiling shyly, and he was wondering how someone so arrogant and hotheaded could possibly be so cute, “I didn’t want them.”

“But still,” the guards outside her door started talking in low, muffled voices and he felt his entire body draw tight like a bowstring, “I ruined your birthday. I drugged you. You didn’t have to do that.” 

She shrugged, and when she leaned back in, warmth radiating from her skin, he felt himself relax a little, “I know, I just… Wanted to, I guess.”

He drew back, not very far, and looked at her for a long time. He wouldn’t have to lean very far in to touch her, and judging by the way she was looking at him with smoldering blue eyes, she probably would’ve let him. She let out a breathy laugh and he felt his heart constrict.

“I don’t even know your name.”

He smiled. The gesture felt unfamiliar and foreign but it somehow her eyes got both softer and sharper and that made it pretty worth it.

“Mako.”

“Mako,” she repeated, quietly, and she whispered it again against his lips after she brought her right hand up to the side of his face and kissed him.

He saw stars beneath his lids, bright, bursting, colorful stars.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo I finally updated! Special thanks to thestartoftime for being a great beta!

x.

He eventually stopped visiting under the pretense of robbing her.

It was a long, slowly built compromise, supported by night after night of quiet, impassioned whispers and hand brushing that didn’t feel quite so accidental. Both of them are too wrapped up in the intensity of just being near each other to notice the amount of time he spends in the castle’s gradual increase in frequency and length.

They don’t talk about the kiss, they don’t repeat the kiss, but the way he looks at her sometimes, with all the curiosity and breathlessness of something just a little too tender to be infatuation— Korra definitely doesn’t need to feel the warm, rough pressure of his lips against hers to know he’s falling in love with her.

…That isn’t to say she doesn’t want to kiss him, though. She’s present when he’s talking, latching onto every word with a hunger to understand why is he so angry all the time, but there is a fraction of a second between rants about the justice system where he takes a second to breathe, and those are the seconds Korra wants him most.

But then he starts off again, and there are more important things to worry about, their crumbling infrastructure, their poorly facilitated orphanages, the archaic nature of their government, and through these midnight conversations Korra finds herself stumbling her way, prompted by him, into what she really believes.

They rarely agree on anything and sometimes he leaves with heavily slanted eyebrows and a mouth set in a grim, disapproving line, but they are learning, when to pull back, when to pretend not to be interested, when to educate through gentle phrase and when to pack heat and anger behind their words.

They are learning.

xi.

"What happened to your shoulder?" she whispers one night, hesitantly pushing the words into a gap in the conversation. Their faces are always a little beat up (he’s come to know she’s perpetually looking for trouble and she’s always known he’s a criminal). They just don’t talk about it. At least until now.

"Ah," a quiet, embarrassed smile flicks briefly across Mako’s face and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, "I, uh— it’s nothing, really.”

She gives him an unimpressed look that stretches on for a long minute until he sighs, shrugs his good shoulder, and says “I fell out of a tree” like Korra might say “I had dumplings for lunch”.

Korra’s eyebrows knit together in concern, “Let me see it.”

"That’s ridiculous, I don’t need—”

“Let me see it.”

They stare each other down a long time, eyes flashing challengingly, and Korra realizes they are playing another one of their ‘how much can I pretend I don’t care about you without making it sound completely unrealistic’ games, and she definitely just crossed the line.

He rolls his eyes and tugs his black over-shirt off anyways, and she raises an eyebrow at the mottled purple patchwork stretching across his shoulder. She is from a family of warriors, injuries, even the severe ones, are not new or surprising concepts, but for some reason on him it irritates her.

"You climbed up here with that on your arm?” she snaps, getting up from the bed to retrieve some of the bandages and aloe from her vanity (probably the only thing in that drawer she actually uses).

He turns to look at her and frowns his stupid frown, “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

And maybe this would’ve caused her to recoil a week ago, but now she just rolls her eyes, lightly thwacks him on the head, and fixes up his shoulder with a frown of her own on her face.

"I don’t understand why this is such a big deal," and despite his words, his voice is quiet and tentative, "you’re always hurt.”

She snorts, pulling the bandage tight enough he lets out a brusque grunt in discomfort, “I’m not stupid enough to climb three stories when I’m hurt and risk permanent damage.”

And in a rare moment of vulnerability his slender, golden eyes catch hers and with a shrug of his one good shoulder he says, “I wanted to see you.”

It’s some unseen pull that makes her nudge forward and press her lips against the edge of his jaw, but he must feel it too because he leans in when she draws away and presses their foreheads together, whispering a barely comprehensible “this is a terrible idea” before kissing her in blissful surrender.

xii.

He loves her from a distance during the day but when night swings around and responsibility is a million miles away, they reach for each other in the cloak of the dark with hands desperately searching for some sort of proof that what they have isn’t just some trick of the light.

He hates her room, teeming with all the little luxuries that stand between them, and even when he finds it in himself to slip under the covers next to her he can’t fall asleep - the bed is too cushy, the covers too soft, the silk makes his skin itch and hum with restless energy. He lies awake while she starts to doze off and tells her about his family when he thinks she’s asleep, starting with what he remembers about his mom and his dad before moving into a story about his brother, Bolin, who she can apparently never meet because there’s a very real chance she’ll like him more.

And then he whispers into the top of her head he’s in love with her, and he says it like a question, and she’s about to say it back but then he repeats it, and this time it sounds more like a bitter, broken answer.

She doesn’t move to kiss him goodbye when he slips out minutes later, and stays awake staring at the deep blue of her ceiling until first light, thinking about a world where things are different.

xiii.

Asami Sato is rich enough to be royalty but bears none of the titles or responsibility. Her father is an inventor, and these past few weeks they’ve been staying with Korra’s family, hoping to eventually make a home in their kingdom. Asami is graceful and beautiful and regal, everything a princess should be, everything Korra wishes she could be, and she nearly hates her for it - but Asami has made it impossible by being equal parts kind and gentle.

One morning, they are leaving for a brief morning ride, when she finds a blue flower tucked into the strap of Naga’s saddle and grins, wondering how in the world he got into the locked stable and knew which one was hers.

Asami gives Korra a strange look when she turns the flower in her hand once and laughs, high and clear, before dropping it in her saddle bag and mounting Naga.

"A gift from one of your suitors?" Asami half-teases as she gets on her own exquisitely groomed ostrich-horse.

Korra bristles, it’s a little too close to the truth, and shakes her head, “it’s probably from dad,” she offers, looking anywhere but Asami’s wide, imploring eyes, “he’s the only one who knows they’re my favorite.”

Asami looks like she wants to say more, but instead just shrugs and sports a smug little smile as she steers out of the stable. They spend the rest of the ride talking about polite things like the weather and politics, but Korra catches her stealing glances at the petal of the flower that peeks out of the bag every so often.

xiv.

She pushes diamonds and little gold pieces into the curve of his palm before he leaves each night and he is caught between resisting handouts and finding a way to help the people that need it most. Miss Huang’s son has fever and she has to take care of him instead of working her second job so Mako takes it for her, folding the trinkets into his clothing with a grimace and a squeeze of Korra’s hand. All she wants to do is to help but he hates this. The weight of the stones push uncomfortably against his leg as he walks home, another reminder of where she is and where he will never be.

xv.

It’s been a long time since the Fire Ferrets made another appearance at the castle, and the royal family grows slightly less weary of parties. Tonraq and the other nobleman manage to cut down a gigantic wolf-bat that’s been terrorizing a nearby village for weeks now. They spear it and cook it over a roaring fire, her father invites all their closest friends to join them for dinner, and the entire kingdom makes an evening of it.

It’s a less formal gathering, Korra doesn’t have to stuff herself into a dress and pretend to be interested in rich people problems, and she’s actually managing to enjoy herself. The evening is warm, everyone is laughing, and a sense of family sits heavy in the air like a blanket keeping them all loose and cozy.

She slips out to the courtyard to catch her breath after dancing to one song too many. The castle is more beautiful at night than during the day, she decides, stumbling across the grounds with graceless bare feet and admiring the way the moonlight falls in haphazard streaks across the lush green grass. Korra collapses dramatically onto a patch of moss, soft and wet beneath her back, and stares up at the sky, only occupied by the sound of her own heart beating.

That is until she hears leaves rustling a couple feet away, the battle reflexes that have burned into her subconscious for over a decade kick in, and she sits up immediately, her hand on her thigh gripping the hilt of her dagger over the fabric of her pants, “Hello? Is someone there?”

There’s a pause, more rustling, and then he pops up, narrow-eyed and scowling like always, but even in the dark she can tell his eyes brighten a shade when he sees her.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, and it’s weird to speak at a normal volume with him rather than their usual whispers.

He glances around warily before holding up a small bunch of roses, “It’s a friend’s birthday tomorrow, and I thought these would be a nice surprise. They’re too expensive for most of the flower shops out there,” he says, nodding to the land that stretches beyond the castle moat.

Korra hops to her feet and makes her way to where he is, running the tips of her fingers along the soft petals of the flowers as she walks, “You have friends?”

He snorts, rolls his eyes, and goes back to picking, “Shouldn’t you be out here with a guard or something?”

Korra lifts an eyebrow in question, “You think I can’t handle myself?”

He shrugs, “I’m just saying,” his fingers move deftly from rose to rose, snipping thorns and evening lengths of stems, and she thinks she likes the way his eyes narrow and his nose crinkles in concentration, “if I was trying to abduct you and it was just you against me, you’d probably win. But if it was you and a guard against me you definitely would.”

“I would definitely win both times,” she says, moving so she’s dangerously close to him. She wants to see if his focus wavers when he feels her press against his back, her warm breath next to his ears, and it does, just for a second, but then he’s back to business and she’s rolling her eyes.

“Whatever you say, your majesty.”

“Fight me, then.”

He thinks about it for a second, “No.”

She folds her arms and rests them on his upper back, resting all her weight on him, “Why?”

“I only fight people I don’t like,” he says simply, turning his head to kiss the palm that dangles over his shoulder, “I like you.”

“You love me,” she mumbles, pressing the words into the back of his neck, and she doesn’t need to look at him to know he’s flushed a deep shade of crimson, “you love me and you’re definitely afraid you’ll lose.”

He catches her arms and spins her around, eyes glinting dangerously as if saying he definitely wasn’t afraid he was going to lose. “What are the rules?” he asks, brushing the roses aside with the toe of his boot.

“No weapons,” she decides, “just hand to hand. And no hair pulling, I’d have it up in battle anyways. But everything else is fair play.”

He nods, dropping her hands and taking a step back, widening his stance into a decidedly defensive one, arms tucked close by his side, “Ready when you are, Princess.”

For once Korra doesn’t bristle at the title, just smiles, fierce and excited, before doing the same and giving Mako a small nod.

They are different in every single way. She charges forward, arms extended in punch after powerful punch, and he draws her in, tires her out, makes her wait. His movements are precise and calculated but Korra fights from the heart, acting on instinct and feeling.

The common thread that keeps them in sync, catching the other move for move, smiles stretched wide across their faces, is the palpable and intense enjoyment that clouds the air between them. They love every single adrenaline driven slap, kick, grab, and dodge almost as much as they love each other, and Korra thinks he’s never understood her better than the moment right before she’s about to throw a punch, the quiet appraisal in his eyes at her form and the second he takes to replay the movement in his head attest to that.

She starts laughing when she pins him, her eyes brimming with glee and smugness, and even though he’s losing he’s laughing too, and although they’re struggling against each other it doesn’t really feel like a fight, it feels like they’ve been working together this whole time.

They spend the next hour rolling around in the grass and laughing and drawing purple splotches and red lines into each other’s skin, quickly smoothing over the marks with a kiss, and every move is a promise, a reassurance, that even if they are more different than the sun and stars can comprehend, they bleed and bruise and love just the same.

xvi.

A year drags by and everything but the way she loves him changes.

Korra is eighteen now and there are two princes and one duke all vying for her hand in marriage, and the pressure to make a decision keeps her hand tapping impatiently against the table every night during dinner, and her leg bouncing incessantly underneath it every council meeting the next day.

Her mother has assumed the signs of love she exhibits, the constant smiling, the staring into space with a dreamy look on her eyes, and the occasional grumpy disposition when they’re fighting, are all because she’s fallen for one of her suitors. No one knows about them, not even the rest of the Fire Ferrets. It’s the biggest most precious secret either of them harbor and the weight of it presses against their relationship sometimes, drawing shouts out of them when the nights are darker and colder and everything seems a little hopeless.

It would be easier if she could just use their fights as a tool to hate him with, to manipulate herself into thinking she doesn’t need him, but even if he lands on her balcony with the full intent of breaking it off, telling her he can’t do this anymore, even if she sits in her bed waiting for him just so she can kick him out the second he arrives, they will part as lovers every night without fail, forgiven for any and and all transgressions, even more amazed by each other than ever before.

She doesn’t need him to breathe but the air feels cleaner because he’s inhaling it with her, he doesn’t need her to wake up in the morning but the sun feels a little warmer on his face because he knows she’s feeling it somewhere too. They hold on to each other tight, trying to savor the little things life grants them, but circumstance is hell-bent on wrenching them apart.

xvii.

He wants to start over. He’s tired of running, hiding his face, thieving, constantly being around death, poverty, and crime. He’s saved enough to do it, to take Bolin and leave the Fire Ferrets. He never wanted this life for them, but starting over means moving to a place where his wanted posters aren’t plastered all around town. Starting over means moving to a place where she can’t follow.

But he’s in her room one night and he sees a necklace, thin and silvery with blue stones hanging off the chain like tear drops, and she tells him with tired eyes that it’s a gift from the son of the fire lord. He’s heard the rumors, that’s one of the princes who’s courting her. The union would greatly benefit both kingdoms. They’re both beautiful. It’s a very smart match. He lets the necklace fall through his fingers like sand in an hourglass and she says his name, once, twice, but he’s already gone out her window without another glance in her direction.

When he gets home he tells Bolin about his plan to leave, and the relief in his brother’s eyes decides for him.

xviii.

He slips through her window one last time. He’s leaving tomorrow.

She almost cries when she sees him but he takes her face in his hands and presses gentle kisses to the dark circles beneath her eyes, whispering it’s okay, everything’s okay, and he traces all the words he’s not poetic enough to say into her skin, the strength of his devotion, the promise that when the stars fall into the sea and the ground turns lava and the earth is reduced to a pile of ash his love for her will be the only thing that shines bright and true and beautiful amidst all the destruction.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” she whispers into the skin of his bare chest and he lets out a breath, his chest contracting painfully.

Korra presses on, his sigh answer enough, “I believe in soulmates,” she says, her voice a little shaky as she props herself up on one elbow and looks down at him. Every line on his face is a reason smile and every shadow that falls softly across his skin is a reason to hold him to her, protect him from what little darkness he has not yet seen.

“I believe your life is tied to mine and no matter how hard we try to pull ourselves apart, it’s not going to work,” it’s the first thing she’s said in days that has held so much conviction, she presses her palm against the side of his face, running her thumbs across the scape of his cheeks, “it’s not going to work.” A tear rolls down her cheek and falls on the bridge of his nose and he closes his eyes in prayer. Just this once, he needs her to be right and him to be wrong.

He stays the whole night, wrapped in her arms, committing every line of her face to his memory so he can hold onto those moments between sleep and consciousness, night and day, breath and phrase, where she will forever be his and he will forever be hers in the most permanent way possible.

And when he slips from underneath her sheets come daybreak, she catches his hand in hers and uses it to pull herself up to her knees, wrap her other hand around his neck, and press a kiss that tastes bittersweet against his mouth. It’s rough and warm and her last promise to him. A tear slides down her cheek as she pulls away, her forehead still pressed to his, and he feels one gather in the corner of his eye.

She’s sits back down on the bed, but holds his hand until he’s too far away, and the second she lets go he swears he can’t breathe.

xix.

The first morning he wakes up in their new house on the outskirts of Ba Sing Se, the air feels cold and dead, though sunlight streams through the open window.


	3. chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this update took so long but you guys didn't really think i'd leave you hanging like that, right? anyways, this'll be the last installation in this story! thank you to everyone who has stuck around this long, you are the coolest. special shoutout to thestartoftime for beta-ing.

**xx.**

Princess Korra didn’t marry, she went on vacation instead.

It was a controversial decision, one people still can’t seem to shut up about, _(I hear she has some weird disease, I hear she prefers women)_ but her family was in support of it nonetheless. She made a very convincing argument to the council of royal advisors that it would be impossible for her to form strong connections between their kingdom and it’s surrounding nations if she knew nothing about them. Besides, it would be a while before she had to take the throne. Why waste that time sitting at home and being someone’s wife?

Senna agreed with her there, and with a little love-driven pestering of her husband, they eventually relented. Korra packed her bags and left home the following morning without a destination in mind, and so began her transition from Princess of the water tribe to Princess of the world.

They say she fought dark spirits in the north at just 18, crushed an anarchist society in the east the following year, and rid the earth kingdom of a tyrannical dictator in the west in just nine months. They say she killed her own uncle. They say the earth prince proposed to her but she turned him down. They say the dictator took one look at her extreme prowess in battle and just gave up.

The rumors are just crazy enough to feel real, and stories of the Warrior Queen Korra stretch far and wide across every political and geographical boundary strewn across the globe. She’s arrogant and brash and probably a little crazy, but brave beyond compare, beautiful beyond measure, and as free as she is wild.

Her first return to home after three years of being away is a huge affair. Kings and queens from all over the land gather to drink and eat and enjoy themselves in the great hero’s honor, and those that can’t come send extravagant presents. Thanks to the numerous nationalities present, the feast is a mouthwatering array of food from all over the globe, the music never stays in one genre for too long and the whole room is glittering with life and culture and excitement, it is definitely the grandest party the kingdom has played host to in a century.

Korra sits at the head of the table, as vibrant as she was when she left all those years ago, but there is something more graceful and relaxed about the way she carries herself, like she feels more at home in her own skin. She regales the table with stories of her travels, meditating for two weeks straight on a sacred mountain with the monks and briefly participating in an underground fighting ring in the earth kingdom, and by the end of the evening nearly every guest in attendance is in love with her.

As the people grow quiet and the night gets darker, Korra nudges her dad’s arm and asks him in an offhanded way whatever happened to that band of thieves that used to terrorize kingdom. It takes a bit more prodding for him to remember, and when he does he shrugs it off. _Half of them are in jail, half of them disappeared. Stopped giving us trouble pretty shortly after you left._

A sad, distant smile that flicks across Korra’s face at his answer, but everyone else is too enamored by the firecracker show that’s just begun out by the garden to notice.

**xxi.**

It was by chance that Mako was in the market the same day as the visiting fire lord’s son. It was by chance he had serious bone to pick with the small troop of bandits that descended on the prince’s company. It was by chance he offhandedly warded off a bolt of lightning aimed directly at the prince’s heart in the following tussle (he would’ve done it for nearly anyone).

But he’s rewarded for this series of coincidences nonetheless, and offered a spot on the guard by the prince himself. The job pays a lot better than the one he’s at now and is slightly less shady, and he thinks about his brother and his sister-in-law with her swollen belly and her wide, scared green eyes. He thinks about what it would mean to Bolin if his child could have a better life than the one they had, thinks about how Bolin’s got his own life now, and maybe it’s time for Mako to find one of his own. He accepts the offer with a brusque nod.

They arrive at the fire nation three days later, and as hard as Mako tries to keep to himself, he finds a life there. Despite his best efforts to talk to no one the other guardsmen become his brothers in the same quiet, stoic way the Ferrets were. He stays in the palace, writes to Bolin once a week, sending money and stories, and falls into a pattern that is steady and comfortable.

He hears snatches of her name when he’s standing watch outside council meetings or just lounging after sparring with the other guards. She’s something like a legend, now, a story whispered to a child before bed or some distant symbol of freedom, but Mako selfishly holds onto the way he remembers her, young and clumsy and totally insane.

He chokes on his morning tea when someone mentions in passing that there’s a high possibility they’ll be working security detail for Princess Korra when she comes into town, two weeks from now.

The guys laugh at him, the oldest, Bao, clapping him on the back as he coughs while Li, a notorious jokester shouts, “What’s the matter, Mako? You gotta crush on her or something?” This is followed by more loud, jovial laughter and several other guards reassuring him they were pretty hot for her too, but all Mako could do was stare miserably at his breakfast.

Hot for her? They had no idea.

**xxii.**

Korra likes the fire nation.

She likes that it’s covered in red that’s so bright it hurts her eyes in the morning, she likes that the people seem to crackle and spark with energy even as they carry on the most routine lives, she likes the cool marble palace, a brief escape from the oppressive, muggy air outside, and she likes spending time with the Prince who she can now call a friend despite the fact she rejected his marriage proposal.

She _doesn’t_ like that he insists sending a group of guards with her every single time she sets foot out of the palace, but after she realizes trying to ditch them was more trouble than it’s worth, she befriends them.

After a little prodding, three out of the four she’s been sent with manage polite conversation and she slowly but surely teases more and more laughs out of them with her best impression of the firelord and an embarrassing story about her first time in Ba Sing Se involving a man with a very long beard and a loom that was just the right height.

One guard, however, refuses to join in on the fun, and remains a professional, fixed distance from Korra at all times. He’s weird. The rest of the company had relented to the heat and Korra’s casual nature, eventually pulling off their helmets and shaking out their sweaty hair, but the one in the back kept his on, never moving to adjust it or at least lift the lid so he could breathe air that was a little cleaner. Even if she couldn’t see his face, she could still feel his eyes trained on her, trailing her every move like she was some volatile substance prone to explosion at any time, and whenever she’d look back to arch a curious eyebrow at him, he’d quickly look away as if he _wasn’t_ the most obvious person in the world.

They make it back to the castle many hours later, their arms full of presents for Korra’s parents and friends back home as well as a pair of dual swords that one of the guards promises to teach her how to use. The prince and firelord are caught up in meetings with the council all afternoon so Korra is free to do whatever she wants. She decides without much thought that it’s to spend the rest of the day in the courtyard with her new friends.

They’re all here, crowded around Li and Korra as their blades clang together, whooping whenever someone gets in a particularly jarring hit. Even the weird one stayed, though he watches from a distance, eyes trained on the horizon as if he’s waiting for someone to hop over it and attack them. Korra does her best to ignore him as she spars with the guards, getting used to the strange, new feel of the sword handles in her palms.

“I don’t know, Princess,” says Li as she swerves out of the way of the tip of his blade, “I think you should probably be the one teaching _us_ how to use those.”

Korra rolls her eyes with an affectionate smile as the other guys back Li up, watching her form as she edges him into surrender with a quick series of strikes packed with power and decisiveness, just as the other guard, Bao, had showed her a couple minutes ago. Li drops his blade and raises his hands in surrender, a wide, boyish smile on his face, “Easy, tigerdillo. I know when I’m beat.”

Korra smiles, they exchange bows, and she turns back to the rest of the group, “Anyone interested in a do-over?”

The question is followed by hearty laughter rather than any volunteers and Korra joins in, holding her stomach and shaking her head, “Seriously? None of you?”

A slight pause follows the question, and she chances a quick glance at the weird one, who seems completely impervious to the joyfulness in the air, “What about you, Hotman? You look pretty strong.” He turns to her, and brusquely shakes his head before dipping it in a bow and respectfully reverting his gaze elsewhere. It’s ridiculous, she’s barely seen anything of him, but there’s something about the way he moves that’s unnervingly familiar.

“What’s his deal?” she asks Li, leaning up on a pillar next to him and taking a swig from her waterskin.

Li shrugs and offers her another toothy grin, “Don’t take it personally. It took us half a year to get him to smile.” Korra snorts and takes another sip of water as she appraises him curiously, before slowly making her way towards where he stands across the courtyard.

He seems to stiffen visibly as she moves in front of him, and she puts a hand on her hip, staring at him with a half amused half incredulous smile, “You sure you’re not interested?” He shakes his head again in that same brusque manner.

Korra nods in mock respect and makes like she’s going to move away, but kicks out a leg aimed for his torso at the last second. His response is instantaneous, a hand coming out block her strike, his stance stiffening into a defensive one reflexively. She smiles wolfishly and moves to strike again, this time with the flat of her hand, but he blocks that too. Three more and she’s pushed him off the edge, he’s fighting back, movements sharp and precise and definite like he’s been mapping out this fight in his head from the second he saw her.

He lands a blow to her arm and she gets his shin just beneath his armor, and suddenly, she knows.

It takes a second but eventually he knows that she knows, and it makes them both a little angrier, their strikes a little more vicious. The cheers from the other men die down as Korra’s eyebrows slant harshly and her mouth stiffens into a grim, disapproving line. The memory of him is still an gaping, unresolved wound tucked away in her heart and she uses it to hate him, to channel that hate into her movements.

They may have been evenly matched three years ago but that was before Korra had trained with Sifus from all across the globe, before she had mastered the patience of the earth, the freedom of air, the flexibility of water, and the power of fire. He lasts longer than most but she manages to tire him out and back him against one of the pillars in the courtyard, forearm pressed against his heaving chest, dagger underneath his ribs. It feels a lot like deja vu.

Panting loudly, she uses the butt of her dagger to knock off his helmet, and sure enough, there he is. Pale skin, ridiculous eyebrows, angry amber stare, his jaw strengthened by age and his lips chapped by the summer heat.

They stand there for a second in silence, just staring at each other, each jagged breath pulling painfully through their lungs. “Well?” Korra asks, quietly, the word barely a sound on her lips. Her eyes are full of questions and Mako stares helplessly into them, all out of answers.

A muscle in Korra’s jaw jumps as she lets him go and starts off towards her room without so much as another glance in his direction or even a quiet goodbye to the other guards.

(There is a small part of her that sighs in relief. He is alive. He is okay. He might even be happy.)

**xxiii.**

Korra tells the prince that she’ll be deep in meditation tonight, and no one is to disturb her, but really she’s just hacking one of practice dummies to bits with her new sword.

“Couldn’t just talk to me,” she growls, punctuating each word with a sharp thwack of her blade, “moron.”

She starts to tire when the sun sinks low against the dip of the horizon, her arms sore, beads of perspiration gathering on her brow. Her chest hurts, her face burns, and her fingers are stiff from being closed around the hilt of her sword for too long - she needs a bath.

It’s approximately thirty seconds after she sinks beneath the surface of the water, its warmth starting to slowly ease the tension out of her aching muscles, when the pacing starts.

 _Thud, thud, thud, thud_ , his footfalls boom like thunder against the marble of the palace, and Korra puts forth a valiant effort to close her eyes and ignore him but it’s impossible, each step feels a little like a punch in the gut.

She rises from her bath a lot earlier than she originally intended, only soaking for half an hour before deciding she needs something to distract her from that damn pacing. She wraps a soft red robe around her body, smooth and fragrant from the jasmine petals in her bath, and settles into bed with a scroll on fire nation style fighting.

_Thud, thud, thud, thud._

Korra grits her teeth and forces her eyes from the crack under the door to the scroll, her eyes catching on the word _confrontational._

_Thud, thud, thud, thud._

There’s a short story about a samurai who was said to have modeled his fighting similar to the way a volcano erupted and Korra might find the passage fascinating— had her focus not run incredibly thin.

_Thud, thud, thud, thud._

Korra gives him another five minutes, focusing on controlling her breathing like the nomads taught her, the simple movement of her expanding and deflating diaphragm, waiting patiently for the frustration to slowly ebb away.

“Are you ready to knock yet?” she asks, loud enough so she knows he can hear, getting up and walking over to the door. The pacing stops and Korra manages a smile, placing her palm against the dark cherry wood.

“In a second,” he calls after a particularly long pause, and his voice is sharp with irritation which only makes her smile widen. He hasn’t changed that much.

“Well,” she says, her voice taking on a teasing lilt, taking a step back in anticipation of his next move, “I was planning on going to bed pretty soon so if you could just speed this part up-“

He interrupts her by shoving the door open and Korra catches it before it bangs into the wall. He is red-faced and flustered, his stance drawn tight, a sheen of sweat resting beneath his collar. She gets another good look at him, then. Three years have made his shoulders wider and his hair stick flat against his head instead of standing up in haphazard spikes.

He turns even redder as he appraises her, and it takes only 10 seconds for him to turn around and start fumbling his way through poorly put-together apologies.

“I-I should’ve knocked, my apologies, Princess, that was completely innapropr-“

Korra pulls her bathrobe a little tighter around her waist, her nails catching on the soft fabric, “Mako,” she interrupts quietly, but he still hears.

There’s another pause, and she wants him to turn around more than anything, “I…” he starts, his voice calmer, tireder, “I should go.”

“ _Mako_ ,” she says again, and this time it’s a little more desperate. She doesn’t have to tell him what she wants. She’s never had to. Slowly, tentatively, he closes the door and moves to face her, his shoulders drawn back so the fire nation crest on the front of his uniform catches the light.

“You changed your hair,” he says awkwardly, rubbing the back of neck.

She smiles and steps closer to him, brushing the back of her hand just beneath his hairline. His eyes squeeze shut and just how much she missed him crashes into her like a tidal wave, and all at once she realizes how much she needs hold him, circling her arms around his neck and pressing her body firm against his.

It takes him a second to return the pressure but that doesn’t faze Korra, she pushes herself up on tip toes and tucks her head against his neck and breathes him in, all sweat and charred fabric.

“...You got taller,” she says, sounding a little betrayed as she lowers onto the balls of her feet. She might’ve let him go, then, but he holds on, dipping his head into the crook of her neck and sighing, “Sorry.”

“Yeah, you better be. ...Hey,” she says, pulling back slightly as she puts her hands on his cheeks and smiles, “I missed you.” Even after all this time, the lines of his face are still familiar.

The corner of his mouth tips up and his eyes are shining even in the low lighting of Korra’s room, “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

**xxiv.**

Korra refuses to ignore him.

She sits next to him at breakfast, she requests he is the guard to accompany her when she leaves the palace, and she seeks him out whenever she has free time. Mako tries to be cool and standoffish for a while, a voice in the back of his mind keeps reminding him he’s still here and she’s still there and nothing has changed, but Korra is irresistible - she glows, vibrant and noticeable even in the nation cloaked in red, and Mako is drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

She’s not who she was all that time ago, her movements are a little more practiced and she seems to have better control over that fire that seems to be perpetually raging behind her eyes, but her smiles are just as bright, her laughter just as loud, and spirit just as playful.

He is reminded of this one morning when they’re out in the market munching on cool, juicy fruit to try and beat the heat and, without any provocation on his part, she smushes her melon against the side of his face. He stops in his tracks as she laughs, juice rolling down his cheek and dripping off his jaw.

She’s laughing loudly and people are staring and they’re attracting too much attention, which is exactly why Mako shouldn’t have smushed his half of the melon against her forehead in retribution, the beginnings of a smile playing on his lips.

Korra stood still for a second, a thoroughly shocked look on her face, before her expression melted back into an incredulous smile, “Did you just…?”

“Mhm,” Mako hummed, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping the juice off his face, forgetting to push back his smile.

Korra rounded on him, a wicked smile on her face, one Mako had come to learn was usually followed by ‘hey, wanna race?’ or ‘let’s have lunch in that tree, I promise I’ll kiss it better if you fall’.

“Y-you did it first!” he blurted out, instinctually backing away as she advanced on him. Korra completely ignored him, and Mako decided this was probably about the time he should start running.

He took off, laughter making his sides burn, and the sound of Korra breathing and laughing too was right behind him. They chased each other around the marketplace like children, weaving in and out the stands like they’d lived there their whole lives, moving much too fast for anyone to wonder why the Princess was chasing some lowly guard with such zeal.

It was Mako who got tired first, attempting to call a truce as Korra barreled into him, knocking him unceremoniously to the ground. They collapsed in a tangle of limbs and giggles, just on the outskirts of the marketplace under a huge banyon tree.

“I win,” Korra panted before rolling off of him, giggling like an idiot, and Mako grumbled something about cheating.

Her hand slipped into his easily, and it felt like deep-rooted instinct to return the pressure when she squeezed it. It was nice, lying in the shade of the bannon tree, watching the light break through the spaces between the leaves, thoughts of turning his head to sneak a peek at Korra’s smile skirting at the edge of his mind. It was nice, knowing that even though there was a new callous at the base of her palm and his hands were rougher and bigger, everything felt the same when their fingers laced together.

**xxv.**

Mako makes a conscious effort to conceal the personal nature of their relationship when they’re in the castle, and Korra tries a little too, but subtlety has never been either of their strong suits.

It’s not hard to figure out when they’re within 20 feet of each other, the lingering gazes when they think the other isn’t looking, the silly faces when they think other people aren’t looking, the way Korra brushes past him when she leaves a room, the way a muscle in his jaw jumps as she does.

And yeah, sometimes Mako lies awake in bed and thinks about how he’s fucking it all up, this precariously peaceful life he’s finally found, the best job he’s ever had, whatever progress he’s made by way of moving on, and maybe he’ll promise himself he’s going to tell her the next morning. Tell her she should return to her kingdom, there’s nothing here for her anymore.

But none of it seems to matter when he takes his post at the entrance of the dining hall for breakfast, and she comes up behind him, pressing a note into his open palm telling him to meet her in the gazebo in two hours.

After a while it feels counterproductive to do anything but just let go.

**xxvi.**

She whispers it to him one night, sprawled across his lap, face illuminated in starlight, cold, clear night air biting at their faces, with a smile too wide and too vibrant for a night as sleepy as this one.

“You’re my best friend.”

He brushes her bangs away from her eyes and she tries to bite his hand. He smiles back down at her, soft and tired, and there’s a thousand different ways he could ruin this moment, this perfect, perfect moment, but he lets himself have it, pressing a kiss to her forehead and whispering, “You’re my only friend.”

She looks up at him, his eyes dark and adoring, and thinks maybe she should kiss him, but for some reason it feels like they have time. It feels like they have the rest of their lives.

xxvii.

The palace plays host to a fancy party one night, and Korra is one of the Prince’s many guests of honor. She asks Mako if he’ll walk her in and with a lot of prodding he agrees, dutifully yet begrudgingly standing watch outside her door as she gets ready.

She isn’t above admitting a small part of her made the request because she knows she will look beautiful tonight, earth-shatteringly beautiful, and she wants him to see her and push her against a stone column and kiss her like his whole life depends on it.

But Korra soon learns that the dress the Fire Lady has sent over sports the latest and most edgy fashion the elite have become enamored with: feathers.

The whole bodice is covered in them, and when Korra slips the fuzzy garment on, ‘earth-shatteringly’ beautiful is not the first word that comes to mind, instead she has the urge to flap her wings like a chicken-goose.

"…Mako?"

"Yeah?"

"I’m not feeling well, can you… Leave?"

"What? Is everything okay?

A pause. She can hear his hand on the door knob and she squeezes her eyes shut, _oh spirits please no no no no no_ , “Everything’s fine! I’m fine! I’m just- I’m just gonna be a little while and I don’t want you to…. wait.”

Another pause. The door creaks lightly as he leans up against it, “I don’t mind waiting.”

"I know you don’t I just… don’t want you to…?" Cringing at her own reply, Korra decides maybe the best strategy is to lock herself in the bathroom just as Mako swings the door open with a half-concerned, half-confused look on his face.

The expression quickly melts into a grin as he quietly appraises her, and then he’s laughing, tipping his head back and laughing harder than she’s ever seen him laugh before and wow, he is earth-shatteringly beautiful.

"It’s not funny," she hisses, throwing a hairbrush at him, which he smoothly dodges.

"I-It’s really not," he says between bouts of laughter, "especially when you think of how many birds had to die for that dress."

She gropes blindly for another thing to throw at him, but (after a quick glance to make sure the door was closed) he reaches for her hand and uses it to pull her close, pressing their foreheads together.

Whatever retort she had dies in her throat as he fixes her with a look, like glowing embers beneath hot coals, and tells her she’s the prettiest chicken-goose he’s ever seen.

In the end it’s her who pulls him closer by the shirt of his uniform and presses their lips together, but it’s him who makes them forty minutes late to the Prince’s party.

**xxviii.**

When Korra’s 2 week trip to the fire nation stretches into a month and a half, and at least half the royal court is gossiping about reasons for her stay, including the prince himself, they decide to sit down and have an adult conversation.

Or at least that’s what they mean to do, but it’s his day off so he’s out of uniform and he’s wearing blue, and Korra tells him he looks a little like her cousin Boa ( _…I look like your cousin? Is that supposed to be a compliment?_ ), which somehow devolves into a conversation about the northern lights (I can’t believe you’ve never seen them! _Dunno, guess I was too busy trying to rob you to make the trip_ ), and the purpose of the conversation slips away, lost in an onslaught of bright eyes and excited laughter.

They only quiet hours later, when the air is colder and their surroundings have taken on that bluish tinge that indicates nighttime, the weight of her head sitting heavy on his shoulder.

"You could just come with me," she offers, pressing herself a little more firmly against his side.

He sighs, a small smile on his face, “and then… What? Where do we go from there?”

Korra sits up straight and turns, sitting with her legs folded beneath her, eyes skimming his profile, “We could just do this for the rest of our lives.”

Mako arched an eyebrow, his gaze decidedly fixed on the sunset, “I can’t give you what you need.”

She rolls her eyes, taking his chin in her hand and forcing him to look at her, mouth set in a pout, “What do you think I need?”

His laugh is quiet as he gently takes her hand from his face and clasps it in his, “I don’t think you need anything. I think you’re perfect,” he says, plopping a kiss on her nose and smiling as a blush flares across her cheeks, and the temptation to ignore the inevitably of this conversation rises between them again, it would be so easy just then to get lost in each other for another three hours.

There’s a pause before he continues, his voice a little thicker, a little more serious, “Korra we could never get married,” the words hit her hard, but she doesn’t look away, “or have kids or… Or even hold each other’s hands in public,” another pause, he squeezes her hand and shakes his head, a small gesture of defeat, “those aren’t things I want to keep you from.”

Korra sits back and thinks about it for a second, tries to picture her future, old with skin like leather and duller eyes, a heavy crown pressing down on her head, hair twisted in an elegant knot like her mother’s, and she finds it’s easy to see Mako there, outfitted as her head of the guard, standing next to her throne. Keeping watch. Taking care of her as she takes care of the world. There are no kids, no betrothal necklaces, and no hand holding - just a deep, unspoken connection that everyone understands and respects because it’s Korra, because they have to, because she’s saved all their asses six times over.

"Close your eyes," she demands, he does without a moment’s hesitation, and she asks him to picture the scene she’s drawn up, and with each intimate, cozy detail she lets slip from her mouth his smile gets a little wider.

By the time she’s finished hours later he doesn’t have to say he sees it too, he wants it too, he’ll come with her, because they both already know.

**xxx.**

Whether she’s defeating evil spirits or running naked through Ba Sing Se, the rumor mill has always found a friend in Korra.

As the years drag by, though, there has been no bigger point of contention than her unorthodox relationship with the head of the Royal Guard, especially since he looks suspiciously similar to a wanted criminal that’s been off the grid for years. A popular pastime among the idly wealthy is to debate the nature of their relationship at great length, and concern themselves with discerning whether or not such behavior is appropriate, carrying on like that, so obviously, for the whole world to see.

But even as the middle-aged, tightly wound elitist snobs turn up their noses when Mako slips up and calls her “Korra” instead of “Your Highness”,  they can see the love, shining brightly between them like a beacon, some sliver of hope all the star-crossed lovers out there can cling to, and manage a smile when they think no one’s looking.

The rumor mill churns even more when Korra changes the law and becomes the first queen to hand pick her heir. Protests and celebration rise all over the kingdom when she selects a scrawny orphan, just twelve despite what her sharp eyes might tell you, named Reika as her successor, and allows her to move into the palace to begin her training.

She’s a handful, always slipping underneath Mako’s watchful eye to bring food to her old friends, getting frustrated when she’s presented with things she doesn’t understand, walls 20 feet high shooting up when Korra tries to connect with her, but she’s also perfect. Measured, quick-witted and unerringly insightful for her age, she’s what the kingdom needs.

Korra laughs when Mako grumbles on and on about her insubordinance and grips his arm, whispering gleefully in his ear, “You know she’s basically you, right?”, which, of course, only makes him grumble a little louder and elbow her in the ribs.

They go out for a picnic one morning, just the three of them, and Korra watches as Reika drops a chunk of ice down Mako’s collar causing him to yelp like he’s the one who’s twelve and then they all laugh and laugh and laugh, faces suspended in happiness until the sun goes down and they have to trudge back to the castle.

Reika runs ahead like always, anxious to scout out the territory, map her surroundings, make new discoveries, but Mako and Korra trail behind at a leisurely pace, holding hands and humming songs and bickering like the old, married couple they are.

Korra still thinks it’s weird how she no longer feels the urgency to spout half formed, hasty love confessions at him as they near the borders of the palace, or draw him as close as she can in that moment because she knows she’ll have to let go when they step on the drawbridge.

Though, in the end, she supposes it’s just one of the many luxuries of having forever.

 


End file.
